Return to A Worthwhile Sacrifice

Summary: Chapter 17 in the Worthwhile series.  Mac has a scare while Clay's stuck in Paramaribo.

The house is so empty without Clay, and, despite the fact that technology is allowing us to stay in close contact, I’m finding it hard to adjust without him. We had decided before he left to call each other on the weekends only. Visions of prior phone bills for calls to Australia were dancing in my head at the time. In the few days he’s been gone, we e-mail each other during the day, and IM every night, but it’s not the same thing as seeing each other.

His new boss, Section Chief Michael Ruxton, appears to have a serious chip on his shoulder, in addition to being a massive burn-out case. He was less than welcoming, and Clay’s so down about it that first weekend, that I end up breaking the telephone rule, calling him on Tuesday. When I mention something about it, Clay reminds me, amusement in his voice, that money’s not a problem for us. Although Clay likes the finer things in life, he’s not extravagant, and I tend to forget that money isn’t really an object for things like this. So, we decide that we’re going to call each other when we need to. Besides lending a sympathetic ear that Tuesday, I also wanted to tell him I’d found a few days I had open at the beginning of September, after Labor Day, and we arrange to meet in the Netherlands Antilles.

Clay tells me later that Ruxton wasn’t overly thrilled about a vacation request so soon after arriving, but Clay has about four months of leave backed up, since he’d been working nonstop since well prior to September 11. Because Clay was approaching an enforced leave, per the CIA’s policy, Ruxton grudgingly approved the request, but he’s making sure that Clay pays for it.

I’m doing what I can, but it’s hard being thousands of miles away. It’s frustrating that I can’t offer him physical comfort, although I’ve already sent him a couple of care packages, and some steamy hand-written letters. Of course, our IM sessions tend to be pretty steamy, too. Oddly, though, our phone calls haven’t really been. That’s when we really talk about what’s going on.

I can tell from his voice that Clay’s terrified of what his assignment’s going to do to our relationship, and I feel bad about not having been able to give him my absolutely unequivocal support. But, I’m scared too, and I ’ve totally open about it. I do, however, tell Clay that I didn’t mean to make him so unsure, and, each time I talk to him, I tell him I miss him and am only interested in him. It’s been strange, though, to see him so adrift, he’s usually so confident. I’ll be glad to see him in person; maybe I can reassure him.

Although Clay’s having problems job-wise, my career starts going great. The Admiral just assigned me as a judge in a case involving disobedience and reckless endangerment. Of a Marine General, no less. I’m simultaneously excited and scared to death.

I call Clay as soon as I get home. “Hello,” he says, and he sounds so down that I almost feel bad that I have good news.

“It’s just me.”

“Sarah,” he says, perking up. “Please tell me you have good news about something.”

“I just got appointed as a judge! Temporarily of course.”

“That’s great! When do you start? What’s the case about?”

“Next week, and disobedience and reckless endangerment arising out of some war games. Sturgis is prosecuting and Harm is defending, so it should be interesting. I’m kind of nervous,” I confess. “It involves a Marine General.”

“You’ll do great. Hey,” he says in a tone that tells me he just hatched an evil Webb plan, “can you hold Harm in contempt?”

I laugh at his gleeful tone. “I could. But I’d have to have a reason.”

“Got an hour?”

“Oh Clay,” I laugh. “Did you have another bad day?”

“Really, really boring, but I blame it all on Harm. I’m trying to jump start a few investigations. It’s all about drugs down here. I thought I’ d graduated from the pointless war on drugs.”

“A different kind of challenge than the Atef brothers, to be sure. But, getting some of this off the street isn’t a complete waste of time, even if it seems pointless.”

“I know,” he sighs. “Ruxton seems to have started a number of things but he never seems to follow through.”

“Does he have ADD, too?”

Clay laughs. “I don’t know. He’s got something, that’s for sure.” He pauses. “I really miss you. I wish you were here right now. No, I wish I was home with you right now.”

“I wish you were here too, Clay. I miss you too.”

We talk for a while longer about everything and nothing. I try to keep the conversation off of Clay’s job, and get him to talk a little bit about Suriname. It sounds like it has its own charms, despites its geopolitical insignificance, and I decide I’d like to visit. I keep this desire under wraps for now, because I’m thinking of maybe surprising him.

I end up spending way too much time preparing for presiding over this trial, and I barely sleep the night before it starts. I’m usually a little nervous before a trial or arguments, but nothing like this. On my way into the courtroom, Harriet tries to calm me down, but ends up making me even more nervous. In fact, I feel like I’m going to throw up.

I take the bench, and, as I always do in court, calm down quickly once I start doing my job. Of course, Harm immediately starts trying to control things. In fact, his reaction to the first adverse ruling: “you’ve got to be kidding.” I let him know that I’m the one in control, and that he’s not getting away with his shit in my courtroom. I know all of his tricks, and people are going to win or lose cases in my courtroom based on their lawyering skills and their cases, not courtroom antics.

I refuse to let Harmon Rabb ride roughshod over me while I’m presiding. Despite his attempts to make me miserable, I’m enjoying presiding. It’s a very different kind of challenge, and it’s something I’d definitely like to do again. There is no way I’m letting Harm deep six any future opportunities I might have later to go back on the bench. I’m not squandering this opportunity, and he’s crazy if he thinks I will.

Clay was being funny when he joked about contempt, but that may end up happening, if Harm doesn’t cut it out. He forgets that I’m intimately familiar with all of his tricks, and I won’t be suckered into letting him have free reign. He gets a long leash from some judges; too long, in my opinion.

The trial goes on this way for another day, when we break for the weekend. This should’ve gone to the jury by now. The objections and Harm’s attempts at grandstanding are lengthening the trial time. The jury’s getting irritated, and I’m at my wit’s end with him when we recess for the weekends. When I find out that Harm went to the Admiral to complain about me, I’m absolutely fuming. Naturally, this would be the *one* weekend I have to see him, at Bud and Harriet’s housewarming party. Before I leave, I call the fencing club and arrange for a last-minute, private lesson. Pretending that I’m running Harm through helps fortify me for Bud and Harriet’s party.

At the party, Harm is true to form, acting as much like a middle school girl as he ever has. Trying to be the adult, I decide to make conversation about something safe, like the crab cakes. “Those look dangerous.”

“Is that a ruling or an opinion?” God *damn* him! What is this? It’s a fucking crab cake!

Instead of following my instinct and completing going off on him, I ask, “Can we bury the hatchet for one day?”

“Sure, but I’d have to pull it out of my client’s head where you left it.” Okay, I really am going to hit him.

“We’re not having this discussion.”

“At least we agree about one thing,” he snaps back.

I make sure I spend the rest of the party nowhere near him. Then, I go to the gym and hit and kick at the heavy bag until my arms can barely move. I take the phone into the bathroom with me and take a long soak in the tub while I talk to Clay. He notices immediately that something’s odd.

“Where are you?”

“A bubble bath,” I say in the most sultry tone I can muster.

“Very sexy,” he replies, and I can tell he’s smiling.

“I spent a lot of time at the gym, today, after Bud and Harriet’s housewarming party. They had great crab cakes by the way.”

“Don’t tease me by talking about crab cakes,” he groans. “I take it, though, that Harm was the reason you went to work out?”

“Oh yeah, I tried to bury the hatchet, in those words, and he said he’d have to take out of his client’s head where I left it. I wanted to tell him he could find it in his own head if he didn’t watch it. I may actually have to hold his ass in contempt next week.”

“If you do, you have to promise to call me right away!”

“You sound quite gleeful about this prospect,” I tease him. “Seriously, though, I wish you were here to give me a massage, my arms feel like lead.”

“That bad, huh? I’d give you a massage, as long as you promised me you wouldn’t fall asleep,” he says suggestively.

“I don’t know if I could make that promise, I’m really relaxed right now. Soaking, talking to you. You have a very soothing voice, you know.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, I can always tell it’s you, in one or two words on the phone. I always could.”

“Really?” He seems very pleased.

“It’s just one of your many good qualities. You know, there’s always someone thinking good about you,” I say softly.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“I do love you, Clay. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you, Sarah, I love you too. It’s what’s keeping me sane right now.”

“No pressure then,” I tease.

He laughs. “I couldn’t go too much lower than this.”

I change the subject to something brighter, and we hang up when my bath water gets too cold.

On Monday, I try to get the trial moving again, but Harm continues to try to push the envelope, and this disobedience/reckless endangerment trial ends up going into a fourth day, which is ridiculous, General or no General. I come very close to holding Harm in contempt, but I didn’t particularly want to bring that kind of scrutiny on myself in my first trial. Despite Harm’s courtroom shenanigans, I have enjoyed presiding. After it’s over, I studiously avoid him, but he corners me in the kitchen. I’m completely bowled over when he admits I thought I did a good job. He almost even admits that he was being pissy because I wouldn’t take any of his shit. I’m as gracious as I can be under the circumstances, but, internally, I’m gloating.

In any event, I feel like I didn’t commit any reversible errors, and I’m relieved it’s over, and pretty happy with myself. So, I run home and call Clay. He’s been so great about my venting about Harm, particularly because I know he’d rather not talk about the man. After telling Clay what Harm said in the coffee room, and he expresses his surprise and his own personal “continuing objection” that I didn’t hold Harm in contempt. I turn the conversation to Clay, though. I need to be there for him so he can vent, now.

Apparently, Ruxton’s giving Clay all kinds of hell about our trip to Curacao, and the two of them aren’t getting along. At all. Some of this appears to have to do with investigations Clay’s trying to move forward, and I point this out. Ruxton isn’t altogether there, but he knows he’s been stashed where he can do no harm. I don’t think he wants Clay disturbing his status quo.

“I don’t even know what to do, Sarah. Nothing I do is what he wants. He’ s completely outer limits, *and* he has the concentration of a gnat. He won’t let me do any follow through! And, now, when I haven’t had a vacation in almost two years, he wants to take it away from me! I’m at my wit’s end.”

“Well. Do you think he may be afraid that you’ll show him up?”

“Maybe. I’m spending my time trying to figure out who I might know that would know him, too. I have found out that he’s been stashed out of sight down here for quite a while. Maybe if I can get an outside opinion, I can figure out what to do. In the meantime, I know I said I wanted to wait to try to get back through the back door, but I’m getting to the point where I might want to start calling in favors. Except, I know it’s too soon. The DCI’s definitely one to hold a grudge.”

God, I wish I could be on the first plane down there. I sit and sympathize with him. During the course of the conversation, I grow more concerned, and, after we hang up, I actually do some checking about how I might get to Suriname. Like Clay, I have a ton of leave available, and I figure out how to make a trip work, although I’ll only have one night with Clay and spend two full days traveling. I’m not sure he’ll make it to the Curacao trip, and he’s worth the travel aggravation I’d have to go through.

My best laid plans go to waste, however, when fucking Loren Singer tries to charge half the Seahawk flight deck crew with manslaughter for what appears to be an accident. To top it off, she’s pregnant. So, I’m going to the Seahawk to investigate her and take her place for the voyage back, while Harm investigates her findings. Not only is this canceling my impromptu trip to Paramaribo, it makes the Curacao trip impossible. I go back to my office, close the door, and cry. I’m not sure *why* I’m so emotional, but Clay and I can’t seem to get a break.

I call Clay when I get myself under control, grateful I never told him of my plans to go to Paramaribo. I’m really glad I didn’t, because, from listening to him, I feel like I just killed his puppy. Usually, it’s his job that gets in the way, but now it’s my turn. If Clay even felt 1/8 as bad as I do right now breaking plans because of his job, I’d be satisfied. Although my unexpected TDY solves Clay’s problem with his boss over Curacao, he tells me he might take the days off anyway, just because he hasn’t had a break in so long. Besides, Ruxton really is driving him nuts. The fact Clay scrounged up a copy of the DSM-IV and has been diagnosing Ruxton all morning does not bode well for Clay’s own sanity. Although, he’s got me in hysterics.

As we wind down our call, I remind him that any communications from the ship are not going to be nearly as long, or as private. And, I promise I’ ll come down sometime after I get back, after the Seahawk gets into port. Then, I go home and pack up for my unexpected cruise vacation.

While we’re on our way to the ship, I notice that Harm is being really cagey about something. I have no idea what’s going through his head, but I have to say, he appears to be concealing information from me. Since I’m here to investigate Singer, I have to presume he knows something about her that I don’t. I don’t have the slightest clue what he *might* know. Or, perhaps more importantly, how. She plays everything close to the vest, and they don’t particularly get along. Actually, the fact that Harm might have some personal information about her makes me feel a bit squidgey.

Even after I get on board ship, I’m not having a happy time, and it’s not all Singer’s fault, for once. Uncharacteristically, I’ve got seasickness, and I feel queasy all of the time. The wristband that’s supposed to help isn’t working, and I think I’m going to run the ship’s store of ginger ale completely dry. Because I’m in the middle of an investigation that’s on a time limit, I decide to suffer without Dramamine, because it just knocks me out.

My investigation into Singer goes about as well as Clay’s life is going, it turns out. He’s finally rousted someone at Langley that knows Ruxton, and Sam told Clay that Ruxton had been sent to Paramaribo because of psychological problems. He’d done really good service for the Company back during the Cold War, in Bucharest, but at some point, he started to unravel. So, they stashed him away where he couldn’t do any damage, until his retirement. Unfortunately, his retirement is like eighteen months off. I really don’t think Clay’s going to last that long under this guy.

On my side of the globe, Singer is non-cooperative and non-communicative. She clearly didn’t think a pregnancy could happen to her, but I believe her when she said she had no idea about it when she deployed. The Captain, however, was not convinced, so I had to go through the motions on board ship. Harm’s still been acting strangely about her, and making secret phone calls. I feel like he’s conducting his investigation *and* mine, which is irritating me. But, on orders, I do some further checking into whether she might have gotten pregnant on board. Pathetically, not one man on that ship would admit to having even a stray sexual thought about her, much less actually *having* sex with her. The Captain still wasn’t entirely convinced, but, really, there was nothing else I could do. And, she had to be sent home. Being single and pregnant is not going to put her on track towards her goal of being the first female JAG. Honestly, for Singer, that’s pretty much punishment enough. I almost feel sorry for her, but she still is a raving bitch most of the time.

Not too surprisingly, Harm reverses Singer’s findings on the mishap. Quite honestly, I don’t know what she was thinking. Sometimes accidents happen; it doesn’t mean people need to be held criminally responsible. Apparently, the guys on the flight deck feel bad enough. When Harm leaves, he takes Singer with him. It’s still clear to me that he knows something, and that it was highly pertinent to my investigation. I suspect he has information that would definitely clear her of misbehavior on board ship, and it irks me that he’s not giving it to me. I don’t have to reveal it, but I do believe she didn’t commit an infraction on board. The Captain, however, doesn’t, and he may make that clear in her records. Even though I don’t like Singer, I’d like to be able to clear her name with the Captain, it’d make less setbacks in her career.

I’m relieved when the investigations are over, in light of the on-board tensions between Harm, myself, and Singer, individually and together. It’ s almost a relief when they leave, but I’m still not feeling any better. We’ll be starting for home in a few days’ time, and, despite feeling pretty crappy physically, I’m going to be glad for the time away from the office. Things have been just a little too tense, particularly with Harm. I actually suspect that’s why the Admiral asked me to do this. Plus, he knew Harm would end up flying, rather than lawyering, if he sent him here.

For Clay’s and my part, we’re frequently communicating, but it’s getting a little frustrating, since we can’t talk completely freely. As we IM, our conversation’s completely full of innuendo but not overtly sexual, in light of my current location. Despite this, I’m kind of surprised at how well we’ve been able to weather our separation. Clay took my TDY in stride, thankfully, and he’s ultimately decided not to go to Curacao. One thing Ruxton did do is have them draw cards for the Christmas and Thanksgiving holidays. Clay got Christmas, so we have something to look forward to. He’s already put in his leave request, so there’s no question about it later, and he’s taking ten days. This makes me very happy. I’ve even done a little online shopping in anticipation.

As I get down to the business of being shipboard JAG, I’m still feeling almost constant nausea. Going on deck only helps initially, but the diesel fuel smell makes me feel even more sick. I don’t know what’s wrong with me – I’ve never had this problem on board a ship before. But, I shake my head and concentrate, through my nausea, on the various petty problems that are cropping up. Petty Officer Coates has become a good legalman, and we’re working really well together. Although, as my seasickness isn’t going away, she’s starting to look at me funny. This is the way she figured out Singer’s pregnancy, after all.

As I think back, I can’t really remember the last time I had my period. Oh my God! Shit! As soon as I can take a break, I run back to my quarters and check my calendar. I don’t generally miss my period, although I have before, in periods of high stress. The last time was during the search for Kabir and Bud’s accident, come to think of it. I’ve been under a heck of a lot of stress lately, but I’m still worried. Clay and I were going at each other *all* the time before he left. I can’t believe I missed my period and didn’t even realize it. In fact, I should be getting it again. Like, any minute. I’m totally torn about the thought of being pregnant.

On the one hand, I want a family, and I want one with Clay. On the other, he’s in South America for who knows how long, and hasn’t even considered a desk job, at this point. Not that he could get a desk job doing what he wants to do, or is qualified to do, at this point. Plus, we’re not married. I know we’ll get married, but we’d definitely need to move up the timetable, so my career isn’t deep sixed. To top all of this off, there’s no way for me to discretely take some kind of pregnancy test. So, I’m left with not knowing.

In light of the fact that I’ll be pretty much in the dark about this, I need to get Clay used to the idea of this possibility. I grab a satellite phone and go into my quarters. I take several deep breaths and dial.

“Hello?” Clay says.

“Hi, it’s me,” I tell him.

“Is everything okay?” He’s immediately concerned. “I didn’t think you’d be calling while you were on the ship.”

“I needed to talk to you. I’m fine. It’s just… Well. I don’t know quite how to say this. It’s nothing bad. At least, I don’t think so.” I ’m stumbling.

“Sarah,” Clay stops me, his voice full of concern. “What on earth is going on?”

“I don’t know for sure, but I missed a period about a month ago. And I should’ve gotten it today, and I haven’t. And I wanted to tell you.”

“Whoah,” he says. “But you’re on birth control.”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s not always 100% effective, and you know, we were doing it all the time before you left. I mean, I don’t know what happened! I mean, I know *what* happened, I just don’t know how it could’ ve happened.” I hear him stifle a laugh.

“Do you usually miss your period? God, what a stupid question,” he mumbles.

“I have when I’ve been in high stress situations. And this past six weeks certainly qualifies.”

“When will you know for sure?”

“I can’t exactly get a test on board. Especially considering they just sent Singer home for this very reason.”

We’re quiet for about thirty seconds, when we simultaneously ask, “How do you feel about this?” We laugh, but only briefly.

“You first,” I tell him.

“It’s a surprise. Not an entirely unpleasant one, though.” Clay suddenly laughs. “You know, I really have no idea how I feel.”

I laugh too. “Believe me. I understand. I want kids, I’m sure that’s no surprise to you. But now? Now is not good.”

“No, it’s not, but I hope you know I do too. Want kids, I mean. With you. I was hoping to put it off for a while longer, because of my job. Especially with this setback. But, we’ll talk about how to handle all of that once we know for sure.”

I take a deep breath. “I agree. I have to say, I’m kind of freaking out. Particularly since I didn’t really notice any of this until today. Plus, I’ve been so nauseated. I thought it was seasickness, but now I’m not so sure.”

“It’s a little overwhelming to think about,” Clay agrees. “Listen, can we agree not to say anything to my mother about this for now?”

“God, yes!” I realize that may not sound so great. “You are the *only* person I’m sharing this with. Of course, if it’s true, it’s all your fault,” I tease.

“I don’t know, Sarah,” he laughs, “I recall you being at least half responsible for all of that, um, activity that might have led to your potentially delicate condition.”

We both start laughing hard. When we calm down, Clay says, “Hey, aren’t pregnant women supposed to go through a period of extreme horniness? If so, be sure to let me know when that happens, so I can be there.”

“You bet. If I’m feeling that way, regardless of the other thing, I want you to be at my beck and call.”

He chuckles softly. “That may be a good second profession for me. Being your love slave.”

“I take it things aren’t going all that well?” I’m kind of relieved for the subject change. I can’t say the p-word out loud right now.

“Same old, same old. When I haven’t manufactured a reason to be out, I’m locked in my office most of every day. Simply trying to avoid him. I’ve heard through the grapevine that he’s making all kinds of noise at Langley about me.”

“Jesus. Why would he do that? Fear that you’d do the same?”

“I guess so. He’d been down here alone. I think he thinks I may be an Agency spy or something. He feels threatened, so he’s making a preemptive strike. I’ve been told people aren’t really listening to him, but it’s not helping, either.”

“Oh, Clay, that sucks. And I’m so sorry about our trip. You know, I had figured out a way to come see you, for like a day and a night, before I got sent here.”

“You did?” He brightens, I can tell. “You’re too good to me.”

“I disagree. I should really get going though. I’ll keep you up to date on the other thing. God, I can’t even say it!”

“Sarah, just remember I love you.”

“I love you too.” We hang up.

We continue our journey, and I still can’t shake the nausea that’s been plaguing me, and because of my potential pregnancy, I definitely don’t want to take anything for it.

Everyone’s tempers on the ship are running high, as the long deployment starts to take its toll. There’s a brawl, set off by some idiotic pilot mouthing off. That keeps me busy for about three days. On day four of the “incident,” I’m trying to finish up the paperwork and my recommendations for handling the discipline of the perpetrators. I realize it’s been hours and at least three cups of coffee since I used the bathroom. When I get in there, I find out I’ve got my period. I’m really very relieved, and I go back to the office and send the following email to Clay. “It appears to have been a false alarm. A bullet dodged, so to speak. I’m going for Dramamine!”

He pings me back in about 15 minutes. “Now’s definitely not the right time, but it was a pleasant thought, in a lot of ways. Let’s IM tonight. I have to escape the asylum for a while.”

I shake my head, and finish my paperwork, then go to the infirmary and get some Dramamine. It ends up knocking me out, and I get the first good night’s sleep since I’ve been on the ship. My nausea is only very sporadic on the way back, after this point. I’m also spending a little more time outside, which helps. They’d been having practically non-stop flight operations when I first got on board. Now that we’re heading back, there really aren’t any, and I can get some fresh air that isn’t so laced with diesel.

Clay and I IM every night on the way back, but we have to limit ourselves to innuendo, since I’m not using a private computer and connection. I’m really not used to having to be so careful about everything I say, and I’m absolutely thrilled to reach Norfolk. I’m off the ship as soon as humanly possible, and I rent a car to get back to Alexandria. I stop on the way and buy a pregnancy test on the way home, the kind you don’t need to take first thing in the morning.

After confirming that it was indeed a false alarm, I call Clay. He offers to knock me up over the phone. After wholeheartedly agreeing, we have a lovely round of phone sex, then talk for a long time about other stuff, then do it again before we get off the phone. I’m looking forward to the real thing, though, at Christmas.